In a Way
by The Green Archer
Summary: Haytham thinks about his relationship with his son Connor while sailing on the Aquila. Contains mild references to AC:Forsaken.


In more ways than Haytham wants to admit, being a Grand Master Templar of the New World is not all guns and glory. It is filled with more losses than wins, endless cycles of throwing people into corners, finding clues but getting no closer to finding answers. Lately, he has started to become frustrated, wondering if it is merely the chaos of the world that is causing him to run in circles the way he is. Sometimes he wonders if the only time when things were simple for him was when he was with Ziio, helping her to track down Edward Braddock in exchange for the location of the precursor site. While it has been over twenty years since he has seen her face, he still cannot forget those months they spent together, that uplifting feeling of knowing he was progressing with somebody equal by his side. He remembers the first kiss they shared in that cave, her small hands in his, those long nights spent together feeling like they were the only people in the world. Sometimes he lies awake; feeling regret, wondering what would have happened if they had stayed together in the end.

But she is gone now, like so many others of her kind. And the only thing Haytham has to her memory is the boy in the blue overcoat standing on the deck of the Aquila, taking them to their destination.

Haytham doesn't need to hear Connor's snide to know that he has been a neglectful father to him. When Charles had first told him about the boy, what was it - four, five years ago? He had barely let his mouth twitch. He was an illegitimate child, an assassin, an unnecessary interference that would be dealt with in time. So maybe he had imagined having a son of his own once but that was long ago, when his ambitions were more daunting and his heart less heavy. His true family was the Templars. He had no need of anyone who was not of use to their cause. He would finish his son just as he would finish the others.

Even now, as they sail off to pursue Church their relationship is hardly a father-son bonding experience. Their allegiances are too different; they are like magnets repelling in opposite directions. Haytham has made it clear that he has no interest in illuminating his son with fatherly wisdom, just as his son is hardly agreeing to play the role of adoring son, filled with the angry notion that _he _burned down his mother's village all those years ago. They are simply on a mission to find one man: Benjamin Church. And, as Haytham keeps telling himself, what bonding time they spend together is pointless now. Their true intentions for each other are clear. Once this is over, they will go back to acting as though none of this ever happened.

Still, in some ways Haytham is enjoying this time they are spending on the sea together. He has never had a son before, and has been finding many excuses to look at him lately. He is a well-built lad, not like some of the weedy redcoats they are bringing in from overseas. While he shares the same dark complexion and fiery eyes of his mother, he has the same long nose and deep-set brows as his father, and Haytham can't help feeling a twinge of fascination, maybe pride, knowing that he had a part in making those. Sometimes, often times, he wonders how things might be different if he had discovered him sooner. Perhaps they would be standing on the same side of this ship right now, rather than on opposite sides, if he had.

"I don't suppose your mother told you much about where I came from?" he ventures to ask him on their fourth day of being on the Caribbean Sea.

"No," he replies.

"I came here on _the Providence_. Very interesting trip. Your lot tried to assassinate me at one point, as I recall. But you wouldn't know much about London at all, would you?"

"No father," Connor says again, and from the look on his face, Haytham can assume that he has no further desire to partake in this conversation than he does in eating that atrocious stew that the ship's new cook made for them the other day.

"Connor?" he says. "I realize we may not see eye-to-eye on certain affairs, but it may not hurt to be civil with each other every once in a while."

"You think just because I offer you voyage on my ship I am suddenly going to open my heart to your 'inspiring' stories at sea?" Connor snaps back at him. "I cannot forget what you did to my people, father. I will never be like you."

With these final words, he storms off, leaving Haytham to stand on the decks of the Aquila on his own. He knows he is right, of course. To play father and son now would be like playing a charade for both of them, about just as dishonest as making empty promises of one another.

Still, a part of him still cannot get over how much of himself he sees in the boy. After all, was he not much older than Connor when he watched his own father be murdered by Templars in his home in Queen Anne's Square? Had he not spent the first several decades of his life seeking vengeance for those who had taken his family away from him? If only Connor would listen, maybe he would understand, come to know why he had made the choices that led him to this position. But alas, the boy is too drawn up in his own convictions, hung up on the belief that the people can bring peace to their own world. A trait of his mother, and of his grandfather, no doubt.

It is a complicated series of emotions for the Grand Master to experience. On one hand, the boy threatens to tear apart everything he has worked for in the New World. He already has with the deaths of his comrades Johnson, Pitcairn and Hickey. But on the other hand, past that cloud of naivety, anger and indifference, Haytham can say that although Connor is his enemy, he plays his part well. He cannot say he loves him the way a father should love a son, but he's almost proud of him, in a way.

And perhaps, given the different places and circumstances that they come from, that is as close to loving his son as he can get to, for now.


End file.
